


i carry your heart

by soldierly



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:12:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldierly/pseuds/soldierly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU based on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seven_Pounds"></a>Seven Pounds. Two years ago, Charles Xavier killed seven people. Now, he's found Erik Lehnsherr, a man dying of congenital heart failure. The man Charles is going to give his heart to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i carry your heart

His name is Erik Lehnsherr.

He has a bracelet on his wrist, sticky white plastic with ugly handwritten spider-scrawl, _Lehnsherr, Erik_. It has a tiny red tab, which means Erik is a resident of the cardiac floor.

Charles already knows this.

In fact, he knows everything about Erik. He knows Erik was born in Germany, and he knows that Erik's mother was murdered by a man named Sebastian Shaw. He knows Erik is an angry, bitter, good person, and he knows Erik is alone. He's never once had a visitor.

Erik has been in and out of hospitals for six years. He has congenital heart failure. Charles knows this, too. He knows Erik is on the waiting list for a heart, but he also knows that list is very, very long. Erik has a blood type that limits his chances of receiving a transplant to three percent.

He has a pager that will go off when a heart is ready for him.

Charles knows that Erik doesn't expect it to go off, but he always has it in his pocket.

He steps into the hospital's crowded rec room and sits down across from Erik. His briefcase squeaks on the clean of the table, and Erik doesn't look up at him.

"My name is Cain Marko," Charles says politely.

"I don't care," Erik says.

Charles smiles and slides his little sheaf of papers across the table.

"You will."

/

Charles Xavier is twenty-eight. Two years ago, he and his stepsister went for a drive. Charles was exhausted from overwork; the dean of his university had passed away suddenly, and all his work had fallen on Charles's shoulders (or, more accurately, his desk).

He fell asleep.

Raven Darkholme's remains were so mutilated that there was barely enough of her to bury.

News channels deemed it one of the most tragic traffic accidents of the decade. All seven victims were immortalized in print.

 _Local professor kills seven people_ , said the headline.

Charles has it under his pillow.

/

Erik reads slowly. Not that he isn't intelligent; Charles has seen his scores. ACT, SAT, LSAT. Erik Lehnsherr is very smart.

He reads the papers slowly. The first one, then the second, the third, and all the while Charles sits across from him, silent and sipping his coffee.

After a long time, Erik says, "Why would you do this for me?"

Charles says, "You're a good person."

Erik scoffs. He's holding the pages like they'll crumble to nothing in his fingertips. "You say you know everything about me."

"I do," Charles says. His voice is distant. He's been distracted by Erik's accent, the cut of his jaw.

"You know what I did."

"I do."

Erik's blue eyes are fierce and set. "I don't regret it."

Charles smiles. "I know."

/

Sebastian Shaw killed thirty-nine people.

Erik's mother was not the last, but she was who Shaw thought of as his breath faded.

/

Erik killed Shaw with his bare hands.

The courts called it self-defense.

Charles knows otherwise, because he knows everything about Erik Lehnsherr.

Three weeks ago, he watched as Erik stooped down in a train station to offer a little girl the teddy bear she'd dropped just outside. Her mother was frantic, searching the floor with desperation bordering on frustration. She had smiled at Erik, so grateful, and his eyes had gentled in response, some of his anger slipping away. He'd touched the little girl's cheek and told her to keep a better hold on her things.

That was when Charles made his decision.

/

"You want to give me your heart," Erik confirms. He's staring at Charles. His eyes are sunk into his face, rimmed with dark circles. His breathing is ragged; Charles can hear it despite the noise around them. He's thin and pale, his once-powerful body weakened by sickness.

Charles's smile deepens. "Yes."

Erik's fingers flick aimlessly, gesturing to nothing. "That's suicide."

"I'm aware, Erik."

Erik pushes the pages back to him. His blood type, in red lettering, is printed next to Charles's. They are identical.

"No," Erik says, and then he's gone, his steps unsteady.

Charles sits there until a nurse asks him uncertainly if he's waiting for someone.

He is, but she wouldn't understand.

/

Charles waits for Erik to call him.

Eventually, he does.

"Cain," Erik says into the phone. "Cain Marko, right?"

"Right," Charles responds.

/

He can't tell Erik his real name; that would carry the risk of Erik calling the police before Charles has his chance. So Cain Marko he is. His stepbrother's name.

Cain is dead, so Charles knows he won't mind the borrowing.

/

They meet in the park.

Erik looks worse than before, gaunt and sickly, with goosebumps tripping up his forearms. He bundles himself painstakingly into his jacket and buttons it up to his throat with shaky fingers. "I'm not going to pretend to understand your stupidity," he tells Charles, his eyes set on something hazy, far away. Charles waits, counting the beats of his heart. "But why are you doing this?"

"I want to."

"You want to die."

"No," Charles says softly. "But I want you to live."

/

The next time Erik calls him, it's to invite him to dinner.

Charles arrives, confused. Erik's house smells deliciously of Italian spices and the crispness of peppers. Erik has a dog, which Charles knew. He didn't know that her name is Maggie and she is blind.

"Why am I here?" he asks, halfway through dinner.

Erik shrugs. "Call it an attempt at understanding."

"Understanding?"

"Your insanity."

"Good luck," Charles laughs. Erik glances at him sharply, like he's something new, suddenly, transformed in a split second. "What is it, Erik?"

Erik shakes his head, his hand dropping to Maggie's head. Charles watches him slip her a piece of garlic toast. She chews on his fingertips and Charles sees him smile, soft and fond, secret. "You baffle me."

Charles raises his glass of wine and clinks it gently to Erik's. "That's the fun of it, no?"

/

They start eating dinner together every night. Charles doesn't know why, but Erik doesn't ask pressing questions, like where Charles lives (a cheap motel) or what he does for a living (nothing; he's living off inheritance). It's a relief. He also doesn't mention Charles's heart again. Instead, they settle into a comfortable routine. Charles has met few people like Erik, and this intrigues him enough that he's willing to postpone.

For now, at least.

/

Erik used to be a metalworker. This, Charles knew. Hearing it from Erik is different, because metal sings to Erik. He has a shed in the back of his cottage, and it is filled with beautiful metalcraft. Erik shows him how one of the enormous cutters works, his slender hands manipulating it with a fluidity that speaks volumes about his love for it. Soon, he's so winded that Charles has to fetch him water and make him sit for nearly half an hour.

"Cain." Charles can hear the fury in Erik's voice, the anger directed at his frail body, the limitations it imposes on him.

"Yes?"

"I hate," Erik says, "my heart."

Charles presses his fingertips over Erik's breastbone.

"I don't."

Secretly, though, he does.

/

"My doctor says I can't drink alcohol anymore," Erik tells Charles one night. "Come over and get drunk with me."

Charles can’t lecture Erik on self-destruction, so he goes, and together they finish off a bottle of wine. Erik shows him how to waltz, and they trip into one another on their way inside, grinning like fools. Erik tells Charles he can stay, he should stay, but Charles doesn't, because he wants to. Instead, he puts Erik to bed, leaves aspirin and water on his bedside table, and walks the two miles back to his motel.

He's so warm.

/

"I can't," Charles says, the following Tuesday. "Erik, I'm sorry."

"You have plans?"

Charles drags a hand down his face. His fingers come away wet. "I can't," he repeats, and when he hangs up he deletes Erik's number from his contacts.

/

He writes the letter.

The mini-fridge in his motel room is stocked full of ice, and he has it all planned. His pocketknife gleams merrily from where it's set next to the electrical socket. Charles praises whoever was thoughtless enough to position one next to the bathtub.

 _To Erik Lehnsherr_ , he scrawls, _I leave my heart_.

The words glare at him, blazingly honest in a way he never meant them. Charles can't look anymore, so he burns the paper and goes for a walk.

/

Erik calls sixteen times, but he doesn't leave a single message.

/

Charles visits Raven's grave one last time.

"I'll see you soon," he tells her, with a flicker of fear. It frustrates him, the fear. He shouldn't fear death.

He doesn't deserve to.

"I'll see you soon," he says again, and the wind howls long and mournful.

/

Erik stares at him when he opens the door. His cottage is quiet and peaceful, as always, and when Charles steps inside, Maggie sticks her nose into his palm.

"I thought," Erik says, and Charles shrugs, hating himself for his weakness, his cowardice. His heart should be beating in Erik by now, but Charles can't let him go.

They make dinner together.

/

Sleep, Charles has always thought, is a wonderful thing.

He watches Erik sleep. Erik, who fell asleep on the couch while they talked about anything and everything, making up for the weeks of separation. His pulse ripples under his skin, arrhythmic and faint. Charles touches two fingers to it, as though he can will it to strengthen.

"Oh, Erik," he says at last. His stomach lurches. "This isn't what was supposed to happen."

/

The night it happens, they get drunk. Erik has a taste for flagrantly disobeying his doctor's orders, so Charles buys an expensive bottle of wine and they eat on the patio, downing glass after glass until the world is dripping with them and only them, shrouded in stars and fireflies and Erik's garden fence.

"I want to see you make something," Charles slurs, looking at the shed. Erik smiles at him, and Charles tucks it away to remember.

"I want to touch you," Erik says. The words terrify Charles, flinching inside him, so he goes into the house, away from Erik's sickly heart and his shadow eyes. Erik finds him in the kitchen, presses him to the counter and kisses him through his fear, teeth and tongue and quiet moans. Charles's heart rests thick in his throat, and he wishes he could reach in, detach it with slick fingers and push it through Erik's ribs.

This is the man he's supposed to save.

/

They make love.

Charles curls over Erik and rides him, slow and languorous, careful not to force him to exert himself. Charles's hands spread open on Erik's chest, his thighs bracketing Erik's hips, holding him together. Erik's watching him strangely, his expression bleeding lust and an emotion Charles has no name for.

"Cain," Erik murmurs, his fingers walking down the patina of sweat-sheen on Charles's stomach.

"Charles," Charles corrects, collecting Erik's hand and bringing it to his mouth. Erik nods like he knew all along.

/

After, they lie side by side on top of the sheets, the barest slice of space between them. "I'm sure you know that I love you," Charles says, and then, his voice breaking, "I caused a car accident. I killed seven people. I killed my sister."

Erik turns onto his side, fits Charles's shaking body into the curve of his own, and says, "I know I can't stop you."

/

Charles slips out when Erik falls asleep.

He fills his yellowed bathtub with ice and freezing water and touches the knife to his chest. He wonders if he'll feel the crack of electricity on his nerves before he dies.

 _To Erik Lehnsherr_ , the revised version reads, _I leave my heart_.

/

"911 emergency."

"I need an ambulance."

"What's your situation, sir?"

"I'm calling to report a suicide."

"Who's the victim?"

Charles tilts his head up and closes his eyes. He smiles.

He's so cold.

"I am."

/

His name is Erik Lehnsherr. He wakes up smelling like sleep and Charles Xavier to the sound of his heart pager informing him that he has a future.


End file.
